


kiss your knuckles

by thefeelsonthebus



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: (for now) - Freeform, Angst, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6488320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefeelsonthebus/pseuds/thefeelsonthebus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>how not to realise you're in love with someone<br/>or<br/>baz is super emo</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss your knuckles

**Author's Note:**

> this is the second fic i've written that is the definition of "wizard angst."

_**Baz** _

Snow’s in a good mood. He comes waltzing back into our room, humming to himself. Probably just seen Wellbelove, no doubt. The happy couple have no qualms about rubbing their relationship in the entire school’s face. Of course, nobody cares. They all think it’s _oh-so-romantic._ I’d rather not see them eating each other’s faces while I’m trying to concentrate.

He goes straight into the bathroom without looking at me. It shows he’s in a good mood, because normally he’d growl or something. Show how much he despises me before he goes off to wash. Sometimes he practically starts smoking at the edges, and I’m worried he’ll go off and I’ll go up in flames.

There’s no growling tonight. He’s practically skipping around.

_Right,_ I think. _Better fuck his good mood up._

He comes out of the bathroom five minutes later, and I’m sat up, my back against the wall, smirking at him. He’s still smiling too much to concentrate, so his feet catches in the doorframe and he trips, stumbling forward.

“Learn to walk, Snow.” I lean forwards. “Have fun with Wellbelove?”

The smile falls from his face. “What’s it to you?”

“Just wonder why she’s chosen you, of all people. You’re not exactly anything special, aside from being the Mage’s trophy.” I push anger into my voice. Of course Simon bloody Snow would be the precious heir of the man who wants to bring my family down.

“Fuck off, Baz.”

I look at him and sneer. He looks golden in the last few rays of light coming through our window. His cheeks are flushed. (I wonder if him and Wellbelove have actually done anything yet.) (I doubt it. Snow would probably go off if she even touched him.)

He’s been following me around for months. I think he suspects I’m plotting some scheme to bring the Mage down. If he knew how useless my Aunt Fiona was at coming up with plans, he’d give it a rest. Still, it’s annoying. His constant presence stops me from even being able to think. He’s always there, behind my shoulder, bubbling over with magic and anger.

“And actually,” he carries on, and I know he’s going to make another sly jab that involves me trying to kill him, “we were talking about how we would protect the school if it got invaded.”

That’s a lie. Snow and Wellbelove never talk. His head’s up in the clouds too often, and she doesn’t care about the politics of Watford and the old families. He’s just trying to get at me.

I humour him. “And why are you worrying about that?”

“In case another chimera got in. It could attack someone.”

“That would be a tragedy.”

“Maybe there could even be another vampire attack.” I go very still, and he does too. I don’t care that he suspects I’m a vampire. He’s thought that for years. But the last vampire attack on the school was the one my mother died in, and even with all of our mutual hatred, we have an agreement never to speak about that.

He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. Of course it does. Everything about Snow has to be showy. I look away, and fall back onto my pillow as he carries on talking. “Agatha was thinking about how we’d know what a vampire would do –“

“Well, why don’t you ask one?” I say to the ceiling.

“I am.”

I sigh, sit up very slowly, and look him directly in the eye. “I have no idea,” I say in a low voice, “what the fuck you are talking about.” I sneer then, and stand up. He’s simmering already. “And I’m sure you and Wellbelove were talking about vampires, Snow, I’m completely sure. Can you even hear yourself?” He keeps doing this. Bringing up completely irrelevant topics just so he can talk about vampires. Anyone would think he has an obsession with them. I know better. He just has an obsession with me.

“I –“

“Wellbelove was thinking about a vampire attack?” I’m on a roll now. My voice is tinged with bitterness and hatred, and I can’t get it to go away. “Wellbelove doesn’t _think,_ you should know that by now –“

“Don’t talk like that about Agatha.” He’s drawing his wand now. Like he’d be able to use it properly. If he even tried to cast a spell, he’d set the whole room on fire and I’d be gone. A pile of ashes on the floor.

I don’t know why I keep thinking about that. I suppose fire just seems so much more possible when he’s around.

“Getting defensive, are we?” He licks his lips and clenches his fists, but I don’t stop. I don’t suppose I believe what I’m saying about Wellbelove, really. I just know it pisses him off. “Don’t blame me if she’s an idiot.“

“Stop it, Baz, just stop it!”

“Snow, you really need to learn how to –“

He growls and moves towards me, raising his fist, and I step back, suddenly breathless. “Anathema!”

He stops a foot short of me, his hand still hovering in the air. It looks like someone’s cast a **_Freeze_** spell on him. The effect’s almost comical. Or it would be, if he wasn’t glaring up at me like he would like nothing better than to kill me.

I look at his blue eyes, and then his lips, and a breath hitches in my throat.

And I realise.

I step away from him, suddenly tense. “Get away from me.”

“You’ve changed your tune.”

“Fuck off!” I yell, and he steps backwards. I never yell. I try not to lose my cool with him, because it riles him up more when he does. But this… fuck, how did I not realise sooner? He’s been following me around and pissing me off so much that I haven’t had time to think. I haven’t even had time to breathe.

I can’t breathe now.

Anyone but him. Anyone but _Simon fucking Snow._

I swallow, and try and disguise my anger. “I’m going to bed.”

“What’s bothering _you_?”

I glare at him. It’s a hard enough glare that I almost scare myself. “You’re still talking, that’s what’s bothering me.”

I slam the door when I go into the bathroom.

When I’m safe in there, I splash my face with cold water and look at myself in the mirror. The same long black hair, the same grey eyes, the same sallow skin. Well, my skin’s even paler than it normally is, now that I’ve realised that I’m –

I release the choked noise at the back of my throat, not caring if Snow hears me. Fuck, I can’t be. I can’t be in love with Simon Snow. I can’t. I’ve hated him since the moment we laid eyes on each other. I set a chimera on him, for Crowley’s sake. (I didn’t do to kill him, contrary to what Snow says.) (I just wanted to scare him a little.) (A lot.) And yet, while he was glaring up at me and growling, suddenly everything seemed to focus. Just the sheer proximity of him was enough to send me into overdrive.

Just when I thought my life couldn’t be any more shit than it already was.

I need to feed again. I have to feed, or I think I’ll faint halfway through tomorrow’s classes. I feel shaky already, but maybe that’s just because of what happened.

I don’t look at Snow when I walk out of the room.

I’m in such of a haze that I don’t even remember the walk down to the Catacombs. I come back to my senses when I’m crouched in front of my mother’s tomb, clutching a rat I’ve drained of blood in my hand. I’ve got blood all over my hands and face – I’m in such a state that I can’t even feed properly – but I don’t have the energy to **_clean as a whistle_** it away. I’ll just do it back in our room. Snow won’t notice. Snow never notices anything.

I lay my hand on the gravestone, throwing the rat across the room. “Mother,” I whisper. This is the kind of thing mothers, if they were here, would help their sons with. Being a fifteen year old boy in love with your worst enemy is a little less extreme than being a fifteen year old vampire. Besides, my mother would hate me less for the former than the latter.

I still feel faint while I’m walking into our room, but I think that’s more because I don’t want to see Snow again. He’s got his shirt off – well, fuck you, too – but he’s not asleep. He’s staring up at the ceiling, and I know he catches a clear glimpse of the blood on my hands when I walk back in, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything right now.

After I’ve magicked it off in the bathroom, I go back to my bed, holding my wand, and stare up at the ceiling like Snow. After a moment, I flick my wand, barely even having to think about the spell, it comes so easy. A fire springs to life, hovering a few inches above my palm. It would be so easy to move my hand up now. I wouldn’t have to worry about how to deal with the fact that I’m sharing a room with Snow for another two and a half years. I wouldn’t have to worry about anything.

“Baz.” I turn. Snow’s staring at me, wide-eyed. He’s sat up again, and the fire is making his eyes crackle.

I glare at him as a response.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“You’re –“ he stops short of saying the word _flammable,_ but his eyes are worried. Why is he worried? Since when did he give a piece of shit about me?

I sigh heavily, making a whole scene out of it, but Snow’s still staring at me. “ _ **Make a wish**_ ,” I mutter, and the flame goes out. The worry leaves Snow’s face, and he lies back down.

There is a pause. “Baz –“

“Go the fuck to sleep,” I say, turning around so I’m not facing him. He sighs, but doesn’t say anything else.

I don’t sleep. I’ve got more important things on my mind. Namely, Snow.

How am I meant to fight him now? Why did I have to realise at this point? It’d have been easier if I realised it at age twelve. When the extent our animosity went to was glaring at each other across the room and throwing books at each other’s heads? I could have stopped my family from hating him so much, or at least made more of an effort to be friends. But no, I had to realise now. Age fifteen. Just before we turn into adults and the entire World of Mages expects us to kill each other. Fuck my life.

Maybe, one day, Simon won’t hate me. Maybe some miracle will happen and we won’t be enemies anymore. But then again, in what world would that happen? It’s been decided even before the Crucible decided we’d be roommates. It doesn’t matter how much I think about his golden hair, all curly on the top of his head, or the moles dotted across his neck, or his stupid blue eyes –

I’m still going to have to kill him one day.

Angry, but close to tears, I roll over and try to go to sleep.


End file.
